Lies Over The Ocean
by QuickSilverFox3
Summary: Jacob Kowalski is a child with a big dream: to bring his grandmother's paczki to America. (IHC R3)


**House/Team: Lions**

**Class Subject: Care of Magical Creatures**

**Category: Standard**

**Prompt(s): [Character] - Jacob Kowalski**

**Word count: 1432**

**{Italics is speaking in Polish, Babci= Grandma}**

Flour dusted Jacob's face, and small scraps of dough clung to his hands as he carefully balanced on a small stool, wooden spoon held tightly in one hand as he mixed the dough.

"_Very good Jacob,"_ his grandmother murmured, pulling a lump of dough loose from his hair, fingers gnarled like a wizened tree. "_Until it blisters._"

She stroked his head for a few moments, watching over his shoulder with a well-trained eye before she moved away again, her perfume, made from the last of the summer's roses, remaining around him.

"_I will write my recipe down. You will take my paczki to the Americas," _she said resolutely, nodding her head. Jacob gaped up at her, only resuming his mixing when she clicked her tongue at him.

"_Mama._"

"_I'm not having this argument again, Jozef," _his grandmother said, her voice stern.

Jacob's gaze shot back to the bowl, his arm aching with the effort to keep mixing. His father's heavy work boots clunked onto the floor as he moved into the kitchen. Ruffling Jacob's hair with one calloused hand, he snagged a glass bottle of Krupnik from the counter. He took a long swig, smacking his lips together.

"_The boys will be American when we move, Mama. We cannot let this hold them back," _he snapped, breath as sweet as honey.

"_Go Jozef."_

His father grumbled underneath his breath, all bared teeth with no heat underlying his words, before he left the kitchen, chased out by his mother's steely gaze.

"_You will be American, yes," _she complained, her voice hushed as she scooped jars up from out of the cupboards, placing them onto the counter solidly. "_But you will always be my grandchildren. And that means paczki." _She nodded, returning to Jacob. "_And now we and the dough rest little one. Go and see your brother; he will be awake now."_

Jacob slipped down from the stool, rubbing at the soreness in his muscles as he grinned up at his grandmother, painfully aware of the coldness of the air against the gap where he had lost a tooth.

"_Go on, take care of your brother," _his grandmother encouraged, her hands slick with oil as she rotated the dough.

Jacob did, feet skittering on the wooden floor, his father's boots slightly too big for his feet. His father was already dozing in the last of the weak afternoon sun, head tipped back. Jacob crept past him, careful to avoid the discarded bottle on the floor.

"_Mama!"_ Jacob whispered, making a beeline to her and scrambling up onto her lap, leaving floury handprints in his wake. "_I made paczki with Babci!"_

"English please," his mother said carefully, her brow furrowed in concentration as she drew her thumbnail through the skin of the pea pod, dropping the peas into a bowl resting next to her on the table.

"I make paczki with Grandmother," Jacob said carefully, the English words feeling rounder, unusual in his mouth.

"Good boy."

His mother kissed the top of his head, flicking away a piece of dough before she rested her chin on his hair. Her voice reverberated through him when she spoke.

"_You understand what we are doing, don't you, my smart boy? You know why we have to go to America."_

Jacob said nothing, leaning over to stare into the basket and was greeted with a wide grin filled with deceptively small teeth.

"Hello Feliks," Jacob said, waving his fingers just above his baby brother's face, giggling as he tried to grab for them.

His mother sighed, her face softening. The lines around her eyes were more pronounced, and threads of silver were beginning to run through her hair, glinting in the setting sun.

"_We will go to America, and we will have a good life there. All four of us."_

_"And then Babci can come and join us in America!"_ Jacob said, wriggling in her lap, beaming up at her, distracted from Feliks' excited babbling by her words.

His mother hummed, rocking him backwards and forwards, but didn't answer.

"America is strange, yes? Lots of people, so many people. We will look after each other," she said finally, slowly and carefully in English, stumbling over some of the words but pushing through regardless, her jaw set.

"_Babci said I could bring her paczki to America_," Jacob informed her seriously, staring up at her in anticipation of her reaction.

Her eyes widened, her eyebrows raising before she nodded slowly, lips pursing as she thought.

"_You will make the best paczki in America because it will be Mama's recipe,_" she said, fingers worming around to tickle Jacob's stomach as he shrieked with laughter, limbs flailing as he tried to escape.

"_Mama, let go! Let go!" _Jacob yelled, gasping and breathless, his mother's laughter rumbling through him as she finally stopped after what felt like half a lifetime, hugging him close and kissing the top of his head.

Feliks yelled from the basket, grabbing hold of his own feet as he rocked from side to side, nonsense words and sounds spilling from him. Feliks's face screwed up in a grin that seemed too big for his face.

"_Ah, my oldest son is abandoning me in my old age,_" his mother laughed, carefully lifting Jacob beneath his arms. One boot slipping off his foot as she placed him on the ground. "_My youngest boy will have to look after me._"

Feliks cooed as he was lifted, staring around the darkening yard in surprise, his grip transferring from his feet to Mama's dress, the fabric wrinkling, distorting the intricate embroidery.

"_No! I will look after you!"_ Jacob insisted, hopping on one leg as he retrieved his boot. His free arm was waving wildly as he fought to keep his balance.

"_I will look after us."_

His father's voice was a surprise, Jacob yelping as he spun around, shock morphing into joy as Papa scooped him up, the world seesawing around Jacob before he settled against his father's chest. He could smell the sweetness of Krupnik and the honey it was made with clinging to his father. His boot fell off once again, the noise loud and harsh causing Feliks to let out a hiccuping sob as he looked around wildly, lip trembling.

"_I will look after my family,_" his father continued, leaning down to kiss Mama quickly.

Jacob was wriggling enough to get an arm free. Feliks grabbed hold of one finger tightly, his sob morphing into his usual stream of nonsense words. The ground was steady beneath Jacob's feet once more as he was placed back down. The air was beginning to bite as night swiftly gathered, the sun dipping beneath the horizon and turning the sky a mess of oranges and pinks.

"_Take your brother inside, Jacob. See if Mama needs any help,"_ his father said.

Mama was untangling Feliks's grip and placing him gently back into the basket, tucking the blanket around his legs before standing, brushing down her skirts.

"_Are we courting again, my love?_" Mama teased, looping her arm through Papa's and smiling sweetly up at him.

His father leaned in and whispered in her ear, a grin spilling across his face as he fought down his laughter. Jacob wriggled between their legs, trying to get to Feliks. He then paused as he assessed the situation. The handles of the basket were rough against his hand, grunting with the effort he lifted the basket. His brow furrowed as he took a few stumbling steps back towards the door.

"_Good boy_," Papa said, moving out of his way as the pair watched him walk, slowly but determinedly back through the door, before beginning to walk down the path, arm in arm with Mama.

"_Babci! I helped Mama!_" Jacob yelled, placing Feliks carefully down on the floor, wobbling before finally sitting down heavily next to the basket. "_Can we finish the paczki yet?_"

"_Patience,"_ his grandmother chided, brushing her hands off on her apron before she hung it back on its peg. She moved to settle down on her large wicker chair. "_Good things come in time_."

Jacob sighed. He wanted paczki so badly, he could almost taste it: the sweetness of the filling and the richness of the dough. He curled up next to the basket, staring at the tight wicker walls, one hand out of sight as Feliks pulled and nipped the skin of his fingers. What would America be like? How many people would be there? There was one thing Jacob Kowalski knew for certain, he would bring paczki to America and share it with everyone there.


End file.
